The Dalai Lama and Amritsar

Scurrying down the hill from Dharamkot to McLeod Ganj in the morning I ran into a few others from my group who were also on their way to the Dalai Lama. They’d already been to his temple before our Tushita course, so they knew where to go, although it wasn’t hard to find anyway. Fortunately I remembered not to bring my phone nor my camera, because electronics other than a radio were prohibited and kept on a shelf outside. After being thoroughly searched, we made our way within the thick crowd to see if we could squeeze in on the upper floor where the Dalai Lama would be teaching. Outside many people sat, waiting to see if they could get a glimpse as he walked into the temple from his home. His temple is very modest; most of it is concrete floors and pillars to house the massive crowds that gather for his teachings. Only a relatively small space in the middle would remind you of a temple, a token Buddha statue in the back. We were able to find a few spaces on the cushioned floor amongst the sea of red-robed monks just outside the main temple room, although not in front of a door which would have allowed a direct view of His Holiness. It was no matter, I was listening to the translation on the radio anyway, and a TV not too far away displayed him as he lectured from his seat at the front of the temple.

It took a while to locate the right station, not only because there were translation channels for about half a dozen languages, but also because the radio was so tiny that any movement on the scanning dial would skip several channels. The translator must have been taking notes, because the Dalai Lama would speak for about 10 minutes before a translation was offered. It was funny to see all the Tibetans laughing at one point in time, then wondering what they were laughing at, then seeing all the westerners giggling at the same point in time during the translation 15 minutes later. The Dalai Lama had a lot of important things to say, but was not a serious or imposing man. He has a lot of good energy and enthusiasm, but is not forceful or intense, contributing to a jovial and lighthearted atmosphere.

Some select notes that I took: Although all sentient beings experience mental states like mental pain, the human-experienced mental pain is more intense than that of animals because we harbor a greater depth of hopes and fears. This contributes to a greater amount of anxiety. Some issues require using the mind itself to solve, others require other antidotes. For instance, anxieties and suffering due to outside attachments are only solvable by cultivating a sound state of mind. Poverty in Bihar, though, can only be attended by science/technology and the administration of the government. Through life, we put our faith and hopes into deities, gods, institutions like the government, science, technology, etc., but it should never be forgotten that mental peace can be attributed to none other than the mind itself, not even faith in the Buddha will afford this. Additionally, the advancements of neuroscience, despite how extensive they are, cannot detect whether a cognition is valid or invalid (for instance, mistaking a rope for a snake versus recognizing an actual snake). In this way, the validity of reality cannot be explained in terms of the brain, only the mind. This delineates a boundary where on one side the sciences explain things and on the other, the ethics, epistemology, and metaphysics of a field of thought such as Buddhism. On the same note, just as we cannot detect via the brain a valid or invalid cognition, we cannot detect compassion versus suffering from the brain alone, as the same part of the brain is stimulated during both. Perhaps feeling deep compassion means feeling the willingness to take on great suffering, hence the overlap. The “foolishness” and ambiguity of the brain applies in a simple way to the eyes as well: a tear alone cannot tell you whether it is of joy or sorrow, or even of heavy laughter. The audience laughed when the Dalai Lama proposed that if the eyes were honest about their tears, only the left eye would release tears of sorrow and the right eye would only cry when experiencing joyfulness. But obviously this is not the case, just as the scientific acknowledgement of a mental cognition does not reveal the entirety of the cognition’s nature. True to his stance on collaboration and conversation between the sciences and Buddhist thought, a good portion of the Dalai Lama’s lectures commented like this. Despite how Buddhist ideas of reality may initially clash with a Western perspective, the Dalai Lama is NEVER about suggesting that Buddhism holds the truth above other perspectives and the advancements of western sciences; he only comments on the useful fruit that can be grown through the conversation of both. Much of what he mentioned I remember hearing at Tushita as well. Another interesting point for instance was about independent versus dependent existence. We conventionally recognize things as existing independently, as entities with qualities and values that exist by their own side, contained within. Conventional language is a testament to this: me versus you, and I, me, mine. Such terms suggest a ‘self’ that exists by its own side. Buddhist perspective suggests that things exist relatively and through dependence rather than separately. Just as we cannot recognize a nature that is not dependent on some prior cause or condition, the self is a convention that carries along with it the baggage of the ego, an attachment-laden aspect of ourselves that is founded on a faulty recognition of reality. Reality does not consist of separate, independent selves and objects; all are related and exist through each other; the nature of reality is one of relative existence, not absolute.

About half an hour into the first lecture, robed men came around distributing small, flat, circular loaves of bread, and later they had large pots of hot butter tea, common in the Tibetan region. My friends had brought extra cups in anticipation of the tea, and I was grateful that they gave me one because it was an experience I did not want to miss. I’ve heard about butter tea, mostly negative comments and grimacing faces, but also a few soaring compliments. The director at Tushita compared butter tea more to a soup than a tea. The butter tea they served at the temple was very light in color, almost white, and was liquidy enough for me to recognize it as tea. Its initial taste was very salty, as if you were sipping salt water. Soon after, the palate was filled with the taste of butter, followed by an aftertaste of whole milk. The best part was dipping the bread into the tea itself. Filling enough to make you want to hike up a Himalayan mountain.

After the two hour lecture, we had a two hour break for lunch, which was followed by another two hour lecture. For lunch, the three I had been sitting with (Anna-Sweden, Jonah-Ireland, and Ankit-England) and I went to a Japanese restaurant. It came highly recommended by them, and with good reason too, the food was astounding. The restaurant is a portion of an NGO that does a great deal of work and advocacy for Tibetan refugees; Ankit had spent a few weeks before with the NGO teaching working-class Tibetans English, a powerful experience which he wanted to continue in the following days. Ankit told me that one of his students questioned why Ankit thought any western government like the US is intervening with the situation in Tibet. Did they know that over a million Tibetans have been killed and continue to face sever persecution? No one seems to be doing anything about it. Ankit spoke about the deep relationship that the US has with China, forged on strong trade relations (and a bottomless debt owed due to the recent costly war in the Middle East). “What are they trading that is so important?” Ankit was speechless when thoughts of toys and other consumer products ran through his head.

After the second lecture had ended and we had waded through the thick crowd, Ankit and I found an internet café to check mails and skype. Afterward, we decided to head over to the Common Ground restaurant for an ice cream dessert (with a side of almond toffee and drizzled with warm caramel) that we were craving. Although I had thought about meeting some people at a pizzeria later on, I decided to get some food at the Common Ground, loving the atmosphere and salivating at the thought of the delicious dishes I had sampled last time. Ordering up some Tibetan specialties, a few others (from India and Holland) trickled in. Eventually we all ordered dinner and chatted for a while, reminiscing more about Tushita as well as talking about social similarities and differences amongst our countries.

That evening Ankit and I went to the local cinema to see Inception (which I had heard a great deal about in the US). Right behind us in the theater were 3 Tushita-ers from the US. It put such a smile on my face that literally every place I would wander to in McLeod and even Dharamkot, I would inevitably cross paths with friends from the mediation course.

Late that evening back at the guest house in Dharamkot, I was disappointed to find that my room key was missing from my pocket. It must have slipped out during the Dalai Lama’s lectures, maybe when I was taking out the radio or something. With little else to do, I took the restaurant owner’s suggestion and slept on the cushioned floor of the restaurant, along with the blanketed handful of kitchen workers. The next morning I had intended on catching a bus to Amritsar. Since that journey would take some time, the earlier I left the better; however, if I couldn’t get into the room, perhaps it would prevent me from getting to Amritsar altogether and missing my train to Mumbai, which was departing the next evening.

The next morning I asked the owner if he had a spare key; he didn’t. We both concurred that the only option remaining was to break into the room, and the owner was nice enough to locate a nearby crowbar and steel rebar which he used (along with a good deal of effort) to burst the lock open to the door. Relieved and thankful, I sorted through my things and packed everything up. I was able to leave Dharamkot in time for a quick bit of breakfast in McLeod, but not before buying a new lock for the door and also getting some new holes repaired in my pants from auntie next door. Scurrying onto the bus, I had about 20 seconds before it departed the bus stand.

During a stop in Dharamsala, I was happy to see that Nuria, a Tushita-er from Spain, was also heading to Amritsar. She is an art teacher at a university in Barcelona, and is going back home in a few days for the start of a new class. We spoke a good deal and marveled at the far-reaching views of vast river gorges and sheer mountain drops outside. I was glad to have spent so much time in the Dharamsala area; as the terrain got flatter and the temperature hotter, I was realizing how refreshingly different the past few weeks had been. After a 4 ½ hour bus ride to Pathankot and a 3 hour bus ride from there to Amritsar, we had finally reached the Punjabi city of the Golden Temple. I only had a few hours here before my train left for Mumbai, so we made it count by walking around the Golden Temple complex and also eating there, after Nuria had put her stuff in the guest house across the street. The Golden Temple provides free accommodation for Sikh pilgrims and others, as well as meals in the temple area, all donation-based. Nuria and I were surprised to see Teo, a Tushita-er from England, also staying in the accommodation common area. He was also catching my train in the evening, but getting off at Delhi. I guess running into fellow mediation students was a phenomenon that extended well outside the area of Dharamsala!

After circumnavigating the shimmering temple, we headed to the kitchen area, recognizable by the loud clashing of metal trays. The process was very synchronized. Upon entering, we were handed a tray and a spoon and a bowl and were shuffled to the upstairs floor, basically a massive room the size of half a football field with burlap strips stretching across the length for sitting. The room filled with people in minutes and food runners immediately began their distribution system, scurrying from person to person, dumping a splash of food into one of the sections of the tray. The dinner included 2 chapati breads, rice, dal, veg curry, and water. If you wanted more food, all you needed was to lift a finger when the runner would pass. Snarfing down my food and the Nuria’s leftovers, my 15 minute dinner picked up its pace as I saw people were already leaving and water was being spread on the stone floor to sop up any mess. Just as I stood up, the floor squeegee ran past, cleaning my area for the next batch of people. Down the steps, we handed our trays to a chain of about 2 dozen men who handed dishes in succession to the cleaning area, where amongst deafening clanging, the metalware was cleaned by hundreds of hands. An energetic and smiley Sikh gave us a tour of the cooking area, where we glimpsed massive vats of dal, having the diameter of the width of an entire care, as well as chapatti machines, churning out a million flatbreads every day. The temple area feeds about 55,000 people daily this day, running entirely on donations.

Nuria and I walked around the temple again as Teo showered to get ready for our train. As Nuria and I gave each other a hug goodbye, we were immediately swarmed with a few Sikh men shouting *NO, NO, NO, NOT ALLOWED!* No cross-gender displays of affection in this area. So, with a few words and a smile, we bid each other farewell. Soon after at the train station, Teo and I also said goodbye, as we’d be traveling in different train cars.

The train ride to Mumbai would last 32 hours. The length of the trip came into focus when I told Dad in a phone conversation that I’d get there at 5:45 am not tomorrow but the day after. That’s a long time on a train! It surely isn’t as droning as a car ride though; on the Indian trains one has his own berth to stretch out on as well as bathrooms, corridors to stretch the legs in, and passing countryside views out the windows and doors that will entertain for hours.